


Housekeeping

by solomonara



Series: Chaos Theory [8]
Category: Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Clark is better at feelings than Bruce, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Healing, bonding on balconies, is a process
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:48:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22608994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solomonara/pseuds/solomonara
Summary: Clark visits Dick in Bludhaven
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Clark Kent
Series: Chaos Theory [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/970407
Comments: 18
Kudos: 149





	Housekeeping

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks, as ever, to [DragonSorceress22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSorceress22) for beta-ing so many works for a fandom she isn't even in...
> 
> Quick note - if you usually catch my updates via tumblr, next week's will not be posted there so either subscribe to me or [the series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/970407) through AO3 for the alert, or just check back here Friday or Saturday for the next Chaos Theory work :)

Dick tipped his head back, enjoying the slight breeze and the kind of sunset only a lot of pollution could produce. It was a warm evening and the air smelled a little of damp and the docks that weren't too far away, but Dick wasn't about to complain. Not when he was enjoying it from his own balcony.

Well, it was more of a catwalk, or a ledge; the apartment he'd acquired had never really been meant to be an apartment, and the "balcony" was very narrow. But it stretched the length of the building, and almost the entire wall behind him was tinted glass. His new apartment had been offices, once upon a time, but was now an open loft with a sweeping view (of warehouses and factories, but still). If only he had some furniture.

That could come later. Dick kicked his feet a little in the open air. He should probably invest in an actual railing, too, but for now it was perfect.

His body realized he wasn't alone before his brain did, shoulders tensing and muscles bunching before he consciously registered the slight disturbance in the air above him. He looked up.

"Superman. What brings you to Bludhaven?" he asked. He didn't move from his seat, though his fingers did curl around the edge of the concrete a little harder.

Clark hovered lower so that Dick wouldn't have to crane his neck. He was wearing the tights and cape, and was carrying a black hard-sided case of a style Dick recognized from hundreds of missions by Bruce's side. It could contain anything from weapons, to biohazardous material, to a sack lunch (though that had only happened once, back when Dick had been Robin, and he'd had to ask Alfred how to get mayonnaise out of the foam lining later.)

"Can I join you?" Clark asked.

"Sure," Dick said cautiously. Clark wasn't a threat to him; never had been, even during the worst of it. But that case wasn't Clark. That was Batman.

"Is this your place?" Clark asked, settling on the ledge beside Dick. He flipped his cape out of the way with a practiced gesture. "Looks nice."

"Is this a social call?" Dick responded. The last time he'd seen Clark, they'd been in the middle of a desert and Clark had been looking at him like he'd just confessed to murdering a Robin.

Clark sighed and fiddled with the case in his lap. "I'd like it to be. But I just came from the Cave so… no, not entirely."

"Figured. How'd you find me?"

"Just listened," Clark said with a shrug. "Don't worry, Bruce doesn't have any trackers on you. He knows you seem to be settling in Bludhaven, but no details. And I won't tell him either, if you don't want me to."

"Doesn't matter," Dick said. "It's not much of a secret. He definitely could have found me tonight, too. If he'd wanted."

"Ah." Clark ran his hand over the matte black of the case. "It's not that he didn't want to. It's that he thought this would be better— that you might actually accept it, coming from me." He held the case out to Dick.

Dick couldn't deny that his curiosity was piqued. He took the case into his own lap, the weight of it familiar. His thumbs worked the latches – coded to his fingerprint, of course – on memory. The lid opened. Folded into the bottom half of the case was a suit, and not the Armani kind. Reinforced Kevlar weave, gloves tucked to the side, and Dick knew if he lifted the main piece out he'd find boots underneath. All of it was matte black, difficult even to see against the interior of the case itself.

Dick frowned. "What is this?" he asked. "His blessing?"

"Well, you'd have that, if you wanted it," Clark said. "But I don't think that's it." When Dick didn't answer, Clark reached over and brushed an invisible speck of lint off the plain, blank chest of the suit. "You'd have my blessing too, by the way."

Dick looked up at him then, brow furrowed.

"Nightwing, Dick. If you had any qualms about taking the name, don't. Nightwing's the symbol of rebirth," he said, earnest in a way only Clark could be. "If anyone deserves the title, it's you."

"I—" Dick didn't know what to say. _I wasn't asking permission_ was too combative. This was Clark, not Bruce. _I'm not Nightwing and I never will be again_ was too much. He didn't want to insult Clark's heritage, but Nightwing… wasn't him anymore. He wanted to yell at Clark for presuming, and to beg Clark's forgiveness for all of the things he'd done while wearing the Nightwing symbol. He was ashamed, and proud, and weary, and strong, and he just wanted to be all those things – himself – without declaring any of it.

He couldn't think how to say any of that, so he just shook his head.

Clark smiled softly. "I know you don't want it."

"You… do?"

"It's obvious you've moved on. I just wanted to make sure that was your choice, not that you were giving it up because of me, that I wouldn't be just as proud as I've always been to have you bear that mantle."

Dick wasn't wearing sunglasses or any kind of eye covering for once, so Clark got the full effect of two depthless voids blinking at him. "You—"

"Are proud of you, yes. And a little worried, if I'm honest." Clark nodded at the case. "So is he."

"When you don't know what to say, say it with tactical armor, I guess," Dick muttered. He closed the case and stood it between them. "Thanks. You didn't have to play delivery boy."

"I would have come anyway. Just to check in."

"You don't have to do that, either."

"You went after Deathstroke with no plan, no backup, no armor, and hardly any weapons," Clark pointed out. From Bruce, it would have sounded like criticism. Somehow Clark made it gentle, a simple observation. "Like I said, I'm worried about you."

"I won't make a habit of it," Dick said flatly. Then he sighed. "Slade's in the wind, anyway. If he stays out of my way, I'll stay out of his."

"Oh?" Clark looked at him sidelong. "What changed?"

"I realized there are worse things out there than Slade Wilson," Dick said. "A lot of them are attached to the Bludhaven PD. And the mayor's office. And— ugh, everything. This city is a shitshow. Slade's just profiting off it, off other places like it."

"So, revenge…?"

"I may have lost my temper when I heard he was in town," Dick said. "But it won't happen again. Revenge on Slade would be kind of meaningless, anyway. Like taking revenge on a sword or a gun. And I've already pulled Ra's al Ghul's brains out through his nose, handed Klarion to Fate on a silver platter, and Batman took care of Savage. So." Dick shrugged. "I'm good."

"Oh. Good," Clark said, a little faintly. Dick wasn't sure if he'd known about the whole scrambling-Ra's'-brains thing. He grinned sharply.

"So do I pass?"

"What?"

"Your little psych eval. Did I give you the right answers? Am I cleared to set up shop here on my own?"

Clark raised his hands defensively. "Whoa, no, that's not what I'm doing here, Dick. Scout's honor. This isn't a test."

Dick reined it in. "Of course not. Sorry." He leaned on the case with one elbow. "Everyone seems pretty sure I'm going to jump back into crimefighting feet-first, though."

"Aren't you?"

"Maybe not. Maybe I'm ready to retire, like Jason. Spend my days as a cybersecurity consultant."

"Really? I didn't know that was something you wanted to do."

"You think vigilantism paid for this place?" Dick asked, jerking a thumb back at the wall of windows. "I did the building's owner a favor. Gave his security systems an overhaul, he gave me a few months rent-free. It's not my dream job or anything, but it's the kind of thing you can do in large part remotely so I don't have to worry too much about—" He gestured at his eyes. "Freaking people out."

"Ah," Clark said. "Well, if it makes you happy."

Dick made a positive, but noncommittal sound. White-hatting it was fine; he didn't _dislike_ it. Bruce was probably correct in his assumption that Dick wouldn't be able to stay away from the vigilante life for long. But he didn't need to know that.

"So, do you need help moving a couch or anything?" Clark asked. He kicked a foot absently, just as Dick had done when he'd first sat down out here. Dick shook his head.

"If I had a couch I'd take you up on that."

"Oh, I might be able to help there. One of my neighbors is moving and trying to get rid of a few pieces. At this point she'd probably give them away if we moved them ourselves…?"

Dick stared at him, then looked down at the case between them containing equipment that would be valued in the millions.

"…or I'm overstepping. You want to pick your own stuff, probably," Clark said sheepishly. "And I've probably bugged you long enough. I'll let you get back to what you were doing." He slid off the ledge to stand in the air.

Dick was still staring at him and he turned, about to jet off into the night. Then, "Do you want a tour?" Dick blurted out.

"A tour?" Clark echoed blankly, turning back.

"Of my place. It's not much at the moment, but…" But Clark had always treated Dick like Dick Grayson; not like Bruce Wayne's ward, or Batman's sidekick, or a tragic orphan, or even a wanted criminal. He had offered Dick second-hand furniture, like a normal person just starting out on his own, and Dick might not want the furniture but he did want… that.

"I'd love that!" Clark said, and Dick couldn't help smiling at his sincerity.

Dick stood, took up the case, and opened the door set into the enormous windows, ushering Clark, cape and all, inside. The apartment was cavernous, the ceilings lost in the dark. They walked into a large living area opening directly into the small kitchen space in the back. To the left of the kitchen was a loft accessible only by ladder at the moment. The whole place was empty. In the middle of the floor was Dick's duffle bag and one small, blue cardboard box.

It didn't take long to show Clark around. The place didn't look like much in the dark of night, and the sun was pretty well set by now. But the lights of the city still twinkled at them through the huge wall of windows. Further out, the safety lights of boats and ships in the bay burned a steady pattern. There were only three doors in the whole apartment: the front door, the balcony door, and the bathroom door. The rest was one big room.

Clark made suitably impressed noises and asked Dick interested questions about where he planned to put what, and before Dick knew what had happened he'd agreed to Clark's neighbor's couch and dresser and bed frame.

He said goodbye to Clark not long after – Superman's attention could never be monopolized for long, and there was an earthquake building up to epic proportions in Chile. That left Dick standing in the middle of his apartment, surveying his domain. The black case had been added to his meager pile of possessions.

"Guess it's time to unpack." He considered the case and the duffel, and forewent both in favor of the small box. He opened it and gently lifted out its delicate contents: a porcelain cup painted with reddish-brown leaves and flowers. It was in perfect condition.

He ran a thumb lightly along the gold-rimmed edge and carried it in both hands over to the kitchen. There was a small shelf probably meant for spices over one of the counters that didn't have cabinets on the wall above it, and Dick placed the cup precisely in the center.

"There," he said to himself, soft enough that the words wouldn't echo in the emptiness. "All done."

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Extra reminder that next week's Chaos Theory update will not be posted on tumblr, so if that's how you usually get your updates about this series remember to check AO3 on Friday or Saturday for the next one (or, of course, subscribe to [the series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/970407) or to me through AO3). 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


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